


The Fiercest Calm I've Been In

by thalialunacy



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-13
Updated: 2009-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:25:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Jim can't go planetside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fiercest Calm I've Been In

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Slash. Monologueing. Excessive schmoopiness. Un-beta’d; feel free to point out typos and mistakes.  
>  **Sources/Inspirations/Etc** : ‘When I’m Sixty-Four’ by Los Beatles, JKR, some girl who likes NASA, CFine, [‘Concertina’ by Tori Amos](http://www.box.net/shared/ck7z1h8z89), _Sliding Doors_ , and, as always, Aaron Sorkin.

He didn’t ask the computer where Jim was; he just made a trail from one usual hiding spot to another. He needed to stretch his legs, anyways, after spending most of the day bent over operating tables. He grimaced and rubbed at a pain in the small of his back as he rounded the hallway to his last guess.

Kirk’s chuckle reached him moments after the Observatory doors swished shut behind him. “Wondered how long it would be.”

“Yeah, sorry,” he said, approaching Jim. The captain was standing as close as he could get to the edge, and McCoy could see the tension radiating from him. And the fact that he was holding back from putting his hands to the window like a five year old. “I would’ve stalked you sooner but I had a bypass to do. Damn fool humans will never get over our love of fried foods, will we?”

“Sure we will. Just as soon as we get sick of sex, candy, and sleeping in.”

McCoy shook his head with a small smile. “Probably true.”

Silence descended, a comfortable one, and McCoy settled in, standing close beside Jim like he always did.

“This is just so weird,” Kirk finally said. McCoy made a murmur of assent but, like any good confessor, said nothing. “It’s easy to ignore the claustrophobia when there are away missions and ambassadors and I’m in it to win it. But this…” He waved down at the planet they were parked in front of. “I can see it but I can’t touch it, Bones.”

McCoy quietly put a hand on his back. “I’m sorry.”

Jim shook his head immediately. “Nothing you could do. Preserving inter-planetary diplomacy is more important than my ego.”

McCoy’s gut tightened, and the hand slid around a waist to gently pull Jim up against him. Their height similarities and, of course, manliness, precluded actual cuddling, but what they did was just fine with him. He could feel Jim’s bony hip through the layers of clothes, and the incessant heat that was forever coming off every inch of the kid’s skin. “I probably could’ve tried to fix it so you could sneak past the—“

“No.”

“But maybe if we’d—“

“Bones.”

“Well, what?”

Jim expelled a breath, his gaze sliding back to the window. “We can’t get away with that shit anymore, as much as it pains me to say. I’d have to court-martial myself, or something, and boy wouldn’t that be awkward.”

McCoy almost smiled. “I’d pay to see it.”

“Of course you would.” Jim’s hand came up to touch McCoy’s briefly, then fell back to his side. He swallowed, and when he spoke next his tone was once again subdued. “I’ve never been good cooped up.”

“I’d reckon that’s an understatement,” McCoy murmured wryly.

“Yeah, well…” Jim stared out the window so hard it was as if he was trying to change the situation through sheer force of will. “Before I got to the Academy, I traveled, you know?”

“If by ‘traveled,’ you mean—“

“Hitch-hiked and lived like a bum, yeah.”

“Right.”

“I went everywhere I could. Saw a little bit of everything. Nothing off-planet.” McCoy nodded. “Just--everything. Mountains and fields and lakes and dozens of cities. Small towns, too, and way too many suburbs. I wanted things around me to—change, I guess, as often as possible, because there was always one thing that didn’t change.” His eyes swept over the view before him. McCoy understood. “And I hated them, and they were always there. Always the same, give or take a constellation or two.

“And then I beat this career into submission and got everything I’d ever wanted, but here they still were. So many things changed but here they still were, always reminding me.” He chuckled without much mirth. “It was fucking annoying.

“The night before we—“ His eyes flicked to McCoy, moved affectionately over his face, then went back to the window. “The night before the night with the tequila, I saw a meteor shower for the first time. From here for the first time, I mean. Everyone else was asleep. I was… not asleep.” McCoy tried not to roll his eyes. “And there they were, suddenly. It was like the shooting stars you see in videos and pictures, where they just burn on and on and the tail burns across the sky, and the tip—it burns painfully bright, and almost as soon as you realize what it is and what you saw, it dissipates and fades into the night. But they’re visible for just long enough that you think maybe, _maybe_ if you reached out far enough you could touch them.”

He trailed off. Then shook his head as if to clear it. “And they were just—perfect. They were perfect and I realized—probably the moment you’d say I grew up—that I actually…” He chewed the inside of this cheek. “I dunno. Loved them this whole time.”

He looked down and smiled, the self-deprecation clear. “What’s that they say about the smart accepting the inevitable?”

McCoy used the hand on Jim’s hip to rotate him slightly towards him. Just enough to get more of that heat, to get his mouth closer to that neck. “They didn’t mean the stubborn and slightly solipsistic smart people.”

Kirk laughed outright. “Mean.”

He brushed his lips across the spot below Jim’s ear, then just stayed there, enjoying the warmth. “And the next night you came to my quarters, wielding tequila and a new-found mastery of the universe.”

Jim shifted into his touch, but McCoy could feel his hesitance. “Bones…”

“There’s nobody in here,” he murmured into Jim’s skin. “I checked.”

Jim stayed still for a moment, then spoke, his voice ringing with authority. “Computer, override Observatory external locking mechanism, Captain’s authorization code alpha-mccoy-beta-six-four.”

The eyebrow. It couldn’t be helped.

“I do what I want.” As if to illustrate this, he grabbed McCoy’s arm and firmly led him down into the nearest squashy Observatory chair.

“Jim...” He put a hand up to ward Kirk off, but just ended up sliding it under his shirt as Jim leaned down to kiss him.

“Oh, come on.” Jim nudged his knees apart and knelt between them, his mouth moving down McCoy’s neck while his hands began dealing with their pants.

“What about the—“ Jim cut him off with a kiss.

“Taken care of.”

“And what if the—“ Another kiss, more dirty and insistent.

“Spock’s got it.”

“But maybe the—“ The hand down his pants was _most_ insistent now.

“Bones.”

“Dammit.” He couldn’t help it, his hips moved into Jim’s grip and his mouth sought Jim’s again. They were both hard and Jim just had this sweet recklessness about him, a desperation at being stuck on the ship while half his bridge crew were planet-side, and McCoy couldn’t help but want to make the sting go away. He pulled Jim closer, sucked redness into the skin of his neck, tried to slide a hand into his trousers.

Jim stopped him. “Let me—“ His fingers slid down McCoy’s perineum, his eyes searching his face. “I need…”

McCoy thought about it for only a moment. “I know,” he said gruffly.

And he let him. Let him shift them so McCoy was settled in an at least mostly approachable position, let him put two fingers in him right away, let him use only spit because it was alright once in a while and it was Jim and in the end nothing pleased him more than feeling full and knowing _he’d_ put _that_ look on Jim’s face. And Kirk was on edge so it didn’t take long. Then, even though McCoy tried to protest, he worked McCoy with his mouth until he climaxed with a soft grunt, clutching faintly at Kirk’s hair.

He didn’t open his eyes a few moments later when Kirk did his best at tucking them in and buttoning them up. He did, however, groan when Kirk pushed at him so they could both sit in the chair. “Dammit, Jim, you can’t just—“

“Yes I can.” And he kneaded into Bones’ side—Bones’ side and back and front, really—like some huge incorrigible dog. “See?”

Bones opened his eyes merely to roll them towards the heavens. Then he heard Jim’s grunt of contentment, and ignored the fact that it was like cuddling with a space heater, and the fact that knew his left leg was going to be asleep in about five minutes. He chose instead to concentrate on Jim’s face, which was back to staring out the window. The furrow between his brows was gone, though, and that was enough for McCoy.

A few minutes later, Jim spoke again. “Sometimes I still feel like a transient, you know? I probably always will. I mean, I chose it. For the rest of my life.”

McCoy tightened his grip on him, momentarily, as best he could. “Except now you have an awesome swivel-y chair as a home.” It was something Kirk had said millions of years ago on their second or third week out, after boredom had driven them to a game of _I Spy_ while on the bridge, and McCoy expected him to run with it.

All it got was a slight lift of a corner of his mouth. “No,” he said. “I mean, I do have a home now.” He covered McCoy’s hand with his own and pressed their fingers together. “But it’s not the chair.”

 _  
**FIN**   
_


End file.
